Whatsername
by Ashliegh
Summary: David Montague has spent the last 7 years as a Death Eater. But for some reason, the face of a former Gryffindor Chaser has been haunting his dreams lately. Only problem is, he can’t seem to remember her name.


I glanced at my profile a few days ago and I noticed, when it comes to posting, I've been kind of dead lately. The last time I updated my profile was in _May_. And it's _August, _people! I'm really becoming lazy. So I sat down and started jotting down this one-shot that we have here, I've had the idea for quite time now. I'm pleased to say, that after I struggled with half a page of writing, ideas came flowing from my brain and formed words onto my keyboard. I'm really pleased that I'm finally posting something. I've been gone for far too long.

**Disclaimer – **Hm, I'm a teenage department store flunky, with only an 11th grade education. And college is far from my mind at this current moment in time. Does it sound like I even have enough creative muse to create ANYTHING related to Harry Potter? Not likely, kids. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Furthermore, the title, and basic plot, to this story were inspired by Green Day's "Whatsername." I just thought I'd clear that up so I don't have Billy Joe Armstrong's attorneys calling my home. Although, it would be quite an experience to be sued by Green Day. . .

_vVv_

**Whatsername**

David Montague has spent the last 7 years as a Death Eater. But for some reason, the face of a former Gryffindor Chaser has been haunting his dreams lately. Only problem is, he can't seem to remember her name.

_vVv_

**Seems that she disappeared without a trace;  
Did she ever marry old what's his face?  
I made a point to burn all of the photographs  
She went away and then I took a different path  
I remember the face but I can't recall the name  
Now I wonder how whatsername has been**

**Remember, whatever  
It seems like forever ago  
**

**The regrets are useless  
In my mind  
She's in my head  
I must confess  
The regrets are useless  
In my mind  
She's in my head  
From so long ago**

**- Green Day, "Whatsername"**

_vVv_

It was dim and hazy outside. The sky took on a certain shade of gray. The air was still. It looked like it would rain soon. Diagon Alley rarely looked like this. It was always full of sunshine and happiness, not darkness and sorrow.

Personally, he rather liked it like this. He never enjoyed exhilaration, like the enthusiasm that flooded the halls of Hogwarts. After 7 years of attending the school, he was rather sick of anything cheery. Luckily, his joining of the Dark Side straight after his graduation left him with very minimal blissful events to view.

He headed down the long street towards his point of destination. He was headed to Gringott's Bank, which of course, was the farthest store from where he was standing. He passed a few familiar faces, mainly fellow Death Eaters with their sons and daughters. A few passersby were people he was sure he had never even seen before. Not like he cared, though. All he wanted to do was to make it to Gringott's, get his money, and leave. He had better things to do.

But as he was dismally looking at those around him, he was clearly not paying full attention to what was in front of him. He stepped around a corner and collided harshly with something. He took a blow to the chest but was not knocked over. However, who ever he collided with lost their balance. He looked down, not bothering to offer any help, at the person who was picking themselves up off the ground.

"Why don't you watch where you're going, eh?" A frustrated voice shouted. He noticed that he had ran into a young lady, around 25 years old like himself, who was nearly as tall as he. She had cocoa colored skin, with equally dark brown eyes. Her hair, done up in multiple braids, was the shade of a dark chocolate. She wore deep red robes and a very livid expression.

She looked oddly familiar.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" He asked.

_vVv_

The flow of air abruptly stopped in his chest and he jolted awake. His head pounded and his eye lids were heavy. He was in a bedroom with dark, forest green walls. A family crest was hung on the wall, the large silver _'M' _shining terrifically in the moonlight. The bed he was clinging to was king sized, coated in sheets of the same shade. He sat up slowly, groaning as the thin layer of sweat dripped into his eyes.

It took him a few moments to realize that he was in his own bedroom. He felt disorientated and wondered how on earth he had managed to apparate from Diagon Alley to his Manor when he had several charms placed around his property. He rubbed his eyes and recalled that he only ever felt disorientated when he had irregular dreams.

Purebloods were never confounded, after all.

David Montague brought his legs over the edge of his bed. He ran his fingers through his dark black hair and sighed. He glanced at the window and took note of the midnight sky. Grabbing his wand off the small bedside table to his right, he aimed it towards the corner and muttered, _"Lumos." _A streak of bright light omitted from the slender piece of wood and revealed the family heirloom grandfather clock that read 3 o'clock. This was the third night this week he had been awoken by the same incessant dream.

He stood up and slipped on his slippers and robe. He walked slowly into his run of the mill kitchen. Out of all the rooms in his estate, his kitchen was the smallest. He tapped the empty tea kettle with his wand and it released a high-pitched whistle. Grabbing a large mug out of the cupboard, Montague closed his eyes and the face of the young woman from his dream appeared behind his closed lids. The mug fell loosely through his fingers, meeting the cold tiled floor with a crash.

"Damn it," Montague muttered under his breath, _"Reparo,"_

As if pressing a 'rewind' button, the mug formed back together and glided into his hands in mere seconds. Pouring the steaming water into his mug, and grabbing a tea bag, he retreated into his office. He opened the door and strode over to a grand mahogany desk. Setting the cup down, he hastily threw the tea bag inside of it, and set off towards the  
cupboard in the far left corner.

Opening it up, he peered at the volumes, manuscripts, and books that were stored inside. He crouched down and examined the bottom shelf's contents. His hand reached out to a black photo album. He pulled it out and held it in his hands.

Wiping the dust off the cover, Montague took it and sat down in a vast rich green armchair behind his desk. He laid the book on the desktop and stared at it. He made it a habit not to look into this. He had received the photo album as a graduation present from his then-girlfriend, Tracey Davis. Montague was never really the type for keepsakes, but for some reason he had held on to this one.

Opening up the album, he searched the faces in the photos. He couldn't find the face he was looking for. A photo of himself and Draco Malfoy in the Slytherin common room smirked up at him. Next to Draco was the ever smitten Pansy Parkinson, clutching on to his arm as if it was a life saving device.

He turned the page. There he was, holding Tracey's waist at the Yule Ball; and another image of the two of them snogging in the corner of the Great Hall during the champions' dance. He disgustedly turned the page once more. He had been a foolish student.

The next page was full of quidditch photos. A few of himself scoring with the quaffle, another of Draco racing Harry Potter for the snitch, and one of Adrian Pucey ramming his broom into the side of one of those blasted Weasley twins.

Montague's eyes inspected the last photo on the page. It was a shot of himself and Pucey flying dangerously close to a Gryffindor chaser, aiming to cut her off. He noticed the chaser had dark chocolate colored braids.

Just like the woman in his dreams.

He watched the photo as he and Pucey managed to cut the chaser off. As she spun around on her broom trying to gain control, he saw her face. Her face was full of frustration, just like the face in his dreams. This was her. The woman he had been dreaming about.

"I'll be damned," David whispered, slouching down slightly to take a better look at the girl. He knew she looked familiar, but it didn't even occur to him that the person he had been dreaming about throughout the whole week was one of the former Gryffindor Chasers.

But what was her name? Who the bloody hell was she?complacentcomplacent

He remembered the girl's face as if he had seen her only hours ago. She was Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, he remembered that well. He used to grab a group of Slytherins and they would assault the Gryffindors during their practices. He recalled a few times he had went down to the pitch privately and waited for her after practices.

He would corner her after she left the Captain's office. He'd insult her and throw stereotypes in her face. He'd follow her until they reached the castle, or until someone interrupted them. Which ever came first. She never ignored him. She would always have some smart comeback waiting just for him.

And he knew that those retaliations were for him and him alone.

He remembered every single time he harassed her. But he was perplexed as to who she was. Why couldn't he remember her name? He had hissed it in her ear enough. He could even remember the way she used to shudder under the heat of his breath whenever he caught her off guard. But for some strange reason, her identity had left his memory completely.

Montague leaned back in his chair, taking the album with him. He squinted at the picture and grunted under his breath. He usually had an exceptionally good memory. It had only been 7 years since he had left Hogwarts, after all.

_"_Sevenyears_?" _he muttered to himself. It seemed like much longer time when he actually said it out loud.

He continued to flip through the collection of photos, hoping to catch a glimpse of her in the back round. He hadn't thought about anyone from Gryffindor, particularly their Head Chaser and Captain, in ages. His eyes landed on a scene from his 7th year. It was a photograph of himself and a fellow Slytherin, Warrington, causing chaos amongst two 1st year Ravenclaws in Hogsmead.

He grinned smugly at the picture. They had managed to find a jinx in an old textbook from Snape's classroom that would flip people upside down, as if an invisible hand grabbed hold of their ankles. Warrington was the one to suggest the idea that they use it on whichever 1st years rubbed them the wrong way. Montague did not decline.

His smirk vanished when he saw three girls walking by behind himself and Warrington. One girl had dark blonde hair, worn in two plaits, and had a horror stricken face as she watched them. The girl in the middle had shoulder length, stringy light brown hair. Her bangs fell across her forehead, which was creased in repulsion. The third girl, the tallest of the three, had dark brown hair tied in many braids upon her head.

Montague's jaw fell slightly slack when he observed the look of absolute aggravation in her eyes as he looked up his image in the photo. This was her, yet again. As the trio walked by, she kept her eyes on him. Not the small children, nor Warrington; on him.

He noticed her arm intertwined with the brunette's arm and, for a split second, pictured himself in the brunette's place. The blonde wouldn't be there, of course. He imagined what she was doing now. He thought about the pleasure he would get if he had the chance to ridicule her once again. He'd love to see her livid brown eyes directed towards his dark blue ones. So many years later and a different setting would maybe even make things a bit different.

He felt his pajama slacks constrict around his groin as he remembered all the times she had smirked gracefully towards him when she received top marks in their Potions classes. And the time when she flashed the same sneer when she showed up in the Advanced Potions class during their 6th year. She was the only Gryffindor, but she held her own. He tried, countless times, to make her fail in her studies. But he hardly succeeded.

_'She's_ _probably_ _a_ _medi_-_witch_,' he mused, shifting in his seat, trying to relieve some of the pressure throbbing in trousers. She was probably working at St. Mungo's, conjuring up Wolfsbane potions for tainted werewolves. However, how many times had he been at St. Mungo's in the past few years? _'More than enough,' _Working for the Dark Lord put you in medical peril more than once.

Wouldn't he had recognized her if they were to cross paths? The many different injuries he had obtained from the current war had set him in almost ever unit at St. Mungo's. Surely he would have seen her at least once?

_'She was too damn stubborn to be a medi-witch at any rate,'_

What could she be doing that would cause her to not make an appearance over the past seven years? Montague was quite sure that he had run into each student from his graduating class at least once. It seemed that she had disappeared perhaps.

Or maybe she had…_'No,' _he contemplated, _'Every death is reported in the _Daily Prophet. _And considering most deaths are because of us, I would definitely know about it.'_

Maybe she had moved; out of the region, out of the country. She had probably married one of those idiotic Weasley twins and now was raising their nine muggle loving, spoiled brats on a prairie some where. Montague couldn't recall which of those reckless red heads she had always been involved with, but he was sure that they were probably still together.

He recalled her and Weasley walking down the corridors. They were always holding hands, or he often had his arm draped across her shoulders or snaked upon her waist. She always laughed at his thoughtless jokes, always flashed him the biggest smile. During lessons he would pass her bits of folded up parchment that flew across the room. She would always blush and giggle after she had read them.

They were the same way at meals. They were always next to each other, touching in some way. If Weasley's hand wasn't on her thigh, her ankle would be wrapped around his. Or if she wasn't throwing bacon into his mouth from across the table, while their legs were tangled together; he was sitting next to her, whispering in her ear.

The two of them always made Montague feel as if he was going to retch. Anytime he caught sight of them together he had the sudden urge to hit anyone, or anything, near him. But sometimes he thought that instead of being just plainly sickened by overly affectionate teenagers, he was actually jealous.

He sometimes thought he was jealous because he could never have a relationship like they did. Sure, he had quite a few girlfriends back at Hogwarts, but none of them were meaningful relationships. Only two of them lasted longer than a month. But the reason why he simply couldn't have a strong, healthy relationship was because he could never picture himself being lovey-dovey with anyone but _her._

And he knew he could never have her.

He angrily jabbed his wand at the photo. His own face was no longer visible. A burn mark had been placed in the spot. Looking at his wand hand wearily, it was brought to his attention that he was aiming at _her _face, not his. But his hand had moved in the direction it pleased.

Possibly, the person he was displeased at wasn't her. He was displeased at himself. He snapped the book shut and tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. He felt those feeling so long ago and even then he was in denial. No need to resurrect unconstructive thoughts.

Closing his eyes, he could still picture her face. The irritating thing was he simply could _not _remember her name. He hadn't a problem with not being capable to pry her face from his thoughts. She was beautiful, she always had been. Not even a Slytherin could deny the fact that the Gryffindor Captain, girlfriend of a blood traitor, was dreadfully attractive.

But why couldn't he remember her name? This was going to drive him mad.

He could even envision himself calling her name from around a corner. Many times he had caught her alone and would bother her until she looked ready to slap him. Growing aggravated, he slammed the book shut. Obviously, he was not going to be able to remember this girl's name. And sitting there in his study seemed awfully stupid when he could be sleeping. He grabbed the closed photo album and chucked it at the wall. His forgotten mug of tea shook on the desk and he roughly knocked it over onto the floor with the back of his hand as he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Why was he acting so ruthlessly? This wasn't like him, to act rash without rhyme or reason. He felt a sense of regret flood over his body and feeling his knees buckling under his anger, he threw himself in a chair at his kitchen table.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered heatedly. How was it that a simple dream and a badly captured photo of a girl he couldn't even remember could make him feel so regretful?

There was no use to have regrets. Regrets were useless to Montague. He always did things without the over shadowing feeling of guilt. But why did images of this girl keep flashing in his head? True, he once thought that he regretted never shoving her into a broom closet and snogging her senseless before Weasley got the chance; but he was over that now.

He did feel, however, distressed that he had no clue where she was today. Even though her present being made no difference to him. It would affect him in no way whatsoever. Hell, why he even cared was beyond him.

He took himself back to his bed and lay down on his stomach. He pressed his face into his pillow, hoping that these thoughts of her would leave his mind. It was still dark in his room, so even when he opened his eyes he could still see her face.

He racked his memory for her bloody name. But he still had no clue. Not that it mattered anyway. Even if he did remember her name, and if he did happen to find her, he was sure that she would have no interest in him. He shouldn't even have an interest himself, but he was inquisitive.

_'Curiosity killed that cat, you know,' _a voice inside his head said. He sighed and turned on his side, glaring at the wall. Steadily, he temporarily gave up his psychological quest and drifted asleep, still hallucinating about whatsername.

_vVv_

Did I mention that I love reviews?


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